Oh yeah . . . I remember this

Ha, the other night I totally remembered that I had started this thing to keep a semi-acurate record of what happens when we get high around here. What I hadn't counted on was how lazy and forgetful pot makes you. So, sorry if I hadn't posted anything since around Thanksgiving 2007. But seriously, something like this is to be expected from potheads.

I'll tell you just how lazy I am though. I never, ever ever ever ever pack my own bowls. I leave that to my wife, who is, I'm pretty sure, a master at it by now. I don't pack them, mostly because I am lazy, but also partly because I wouldn't want to insult the craft of packing bowls with one packed by me that doesn't smoke right. And forget about breaking the shit up before it goes in the bowl. Knowing me, I'd just grab a handful of it (seeds and all) and just drop it in the bowl. My wife keeps trying to get me to learn, I'm thinking so she can be relieved of her bowl handling duties, but I ain't having none of it.

I also hate securing the merchandise. We have a couple of sources, friends and professionals, and I do not like making the phone call to get the stuff. I don't even like to handle the cash. To me, securing it is like a spectator sport. I watch from the sidelines while it's taken care of for me. Once again, it goes back to me being super lazy. Don't judge me.

So, that just reinforces my excuse. We've also being doing it a lot in recent weeks. Like, every day rather than a weekend thing. So, my periods of lucidity are mostly spent at work, and not anywhere near a computer where I can safely write about the subject. I'm just taking the time now to explain this all to you (or none of you since this blog goes around largely undiscovered) before I have to jump in the shower and get ready for another 8 hour day at my Corporate America job.

"What's 4911?"

Yesterday evening, during the digesting of our Thanksgiving dinner, and post herb smoke-out session, my wife and I were standing on our front porch, trying to keep warm in the nippy November weather, smoking a cigarette. We had just been out there long enough to light up the smoke when a lady came walking down our street, looking like she was searching for something. She spotted us and started to make her way towards us.

Lady: Hi, do you guys know where 4911 is?
Wife: Umm . . .
Me: What's 4911?
Wife: It's . . .
Me: Oh, wait, I get it. Well, this is 5021, and the house across the street is 5014, so it's down that way.
Wife: Yeah, just keep walking down there and it should be on this side (motioning to our side of the street).
Lady: Do you know how far down?
Both my wife and I: No, not really.
Me: But it can't be far. But it could also be on the other side of that main street. Sorry, we're not sure.
Lady: OK, thanks.

She walked away, and 5 seconds later, my wife and I started to laugh. I, for one, had thought that she was looking for an establishment called "4911", and my wife, who has been living in the same area for close to 10 years now, could not give her the appropriate directions. Thinking about it now, we did point her in the right direction, so there's no way she would have gotten lost. It couldn't have been more than a block or two away, at the most. We just have to remember to not give directions to people when we're high.

Ceiling Pussy

We have a crack in our ceiling that, over the past couple of years, seems to have expanded and blossomed into what we’re currently calling . . . the “Ceiling-Pussy”. I had tried to convey this to my darling wife for some time now, but a couple of weeks ago, while under the influence of cannabis, she seemed to be more receptive. This is what that conversation looked like. I mean . . . this is what I remember it being. I might be off by a couple of details, but the gist is there.

Wife – You know, it does look like a ceiling pussy.
Me – I told you so, that crack in the ceiling does look a pussy. A Ceiling-Pussy.
Wife – Or a monster mouth.
Me – That Ceiling-Pussy looks a little on the rough side. Like it has ceiling Chlamydia or ceiling HPV.
Wife - *Laughs* No, now it looks like Eduardo (from “Foster’s Home For Imaginary Friends”)
Me – It looks like Pac-Man to me. Getting ready to eat. And he has a hat on, kind of like a cowboy hat.
Wife – What?
Me – Shut-up . . .
Wife – What was that? What do you mean?
Me – All I know is that “Shut up” ends all arguments. I win!
Wife – Whatever, where’s this hat.
Me – It’s tipped to the side like young black people wear their hats these days, like that one douche-bag on “I Love New York”.
Wife – Oh yeah, I can totally see it now. It looks that Wal-Mart guy.
Me – What? The one that slashes down prices? That Wal-Mart guy can go suck it! Fuck him.
Wife – Shut up.
Me – What? See . . . you’re using it too.
Wife – Callate la boca.
Me – Don’t use my people against me.
Wife – It now looks like the female Pac-Man . . . you know MS. PAC-MAN.
Me – Thanks for the biology lesson there. You cleared up that scientific fact pretty nice.
Wife - Fuck off, you know what I meant.
Me - Yeah, what were we talking about again?

We both started laughing at this point as we forgot what we were talking about. Things like that tend to happen when we’ve been smoking. The important thing is that it came back to me, and now is fodder for this little blog.

Adding Elements

I've been toying with the idea of adding advertising to this blog . . . because, while this may be a little side-project for me, the potential for making money is still the driving force. Specially for "bloggers". But, that doesn't mean that I want to overload this blog with ads, so for now, I'm limiting this to that one ad from Spreadshirt, which is a great t-shirt company that lets you design your own clothing. Do you want a giant pot leaf on a t-shirt or hoodie? They'll do it for you. Play around with their t-shirt editor, go wild. Proceeds go to a good cause. Helping us buy more herb . . . al remedies. Yeah. That's what we're using the money for.

Also look in for other things in the near future like polls and the such. But, I think I need to expand the readership base just a tad before I add that there. Possibly once I start getting more than 20 visitors/month. Which means I would actually start writing more for this blog. This is starting to get serious. I need something to relax me. Be back in a week, with another tale and maybe new additions to the blog.

"What is this Movie Called Again?"

From time to time, I will have the distinct pleasure of coming home from a long day at work to a pretty stoned wife. Which is great, because it makes for some hilarious hijinks. This past Friday, after coming home with a gift card from work, we decided to hit up the local Blockbuster for some movies. We don't frequent Blockbuster whenever we want to get some new DVD's, but since the gift card was for that specific retailer, we had no choice.

My wife was pretty baked for the whole trip out. We got there, and found a rack of movies which were selling at the rate of 4 for 20 bucks. Pretty sweet deal, specially since my gift card was for just that amount. We started picking out movies, and my geek-heart immediately picked up Marvel's animated feature "Ultimate Avengers 2". I know. Shut up. My wife then picked up a used copy of "Half Nelson", which she had been wanting to watch for some time now. I then picked up "Snakes on a Plane" . . . because I have a deep appreciation for Samuel L. Jackson . . . and because it has to be hilarious to watch while high. Our fourth and final DVD choice was a little bit harder. But, after sifting through the rack of movies, I picked up the recent remake of "Miami Vice". I had heard great things, but my wife had been totally anti-watching it in theaters.

Me - Hey, how about this? (Shows her the DVD box)
Wife - Miami Vice? Um, OK. Yeah, why not.
Me - I heard it was good. And it's only 5 bucks.
Wife - Yeah, get it.

We waited in line, paid for the movies, and headed back home. I then joined my wife in her altered state of mind and we popped in "Miami Vice" into the XBOX 360's DVD player. As soon as the opening credits start showing up, my wife sits up and looks at me, a bit on the perplexed side.

Wife - Wait, what is this movie called again?
Me - Miami Vice
Wife - What? I thought we were buying Bad Boys 4 or something.
Me - What the . . . Bad Boys 4? That movie isn't even in production.
Wife - Oh man, I thought it was going to be one of those Bad Boys movies.
Me - I asked you in the store if you wanted to watch "MIAMI VICE", and you said "yes".
Wife - Wow. I'm really high.
Me - Yes. Yes you are.

We laughed pretty hard about that, and then watched the movie. Which was great . . . when something actually happened. I might have to re-watch that again while sober, because when I'm baked, I tend to doze off. And since this movie had long periods of time when practically nothing happened . . . I fell asleep a couple of times. Good thing there are gunshots in the movie, because those woke me up periodically. Otherwise, I would have missed the whole thing.

Storytelling Under the Influence

Just this past Saturday night, I had a moment of utter brilliance when I tried to tell my wife a story. Unfortunately, my brain to mouth filter was clogged with cannabis, so it went wrong somewhere along the line. The story ended up a little like this:

Me: Hey, remember that one time when I told you that stuff?
Wife: What?
Me: You know, about your sisters and the cheese.
Wife: *stares at me and makes "what the fuck are you talking about face"
Me: You know . . . wait, it's gone.
Wife: What?! *she starts laughing
Me: Oh, OK, it's back. That one time when I was telling you about your sisters and how they took our cheese.
Wife: I don't remember that.
Me: I was really tired then, so I kept saying that your "chisters stole our seese". And I kept trying to correct myself, but every time I tried saying it right, it would still come out as chisters and seese?
Wife: I don't know what you're talking about . . . but whatever it is . . . you're a great storyteller.

So . . . that happened.

Reflections

Things like this tend to happen to us when we've been smoking weed. It's understandable though. Pot affects the mental faculties. This one just happens to be a little more on the hilarious side than other times. Most of the time, we just can't think of a word and we'll spend a few minutes trying to figure out just what we want to tell each other and by the time we have figured out the word, we have already forgotten what we were talking about. Good thing this particular memory stuck around in my head.

Wife - Hey man, you can see yourself in the reflection there . . .
Me - Yes. Wait? Did you just say that to me? I can see myself in the reflection?
Wife - Yes (giggles) What?
Me - Nevermind . . . How much have we smoked tonight?